


A chemically panicked idea of a romantic tryst

by redsnake05



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-16
Updated: 2010-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 11:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob and Spencer's band mates are conniving little shits, and they get a look at what constitutes romantic while on tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A chemically panicked idea of a romantic tryst

"Frank!" shouted Bob, hammering on the door with his fists. "When I get out of here, there won't be anywhere you can hide, you little fucker!" With one last frustrated kick at the wood, Bob stepped back from the door. Frank never left things to chance, and, if he'd been locked in here, there was no way he would get out until Ray noticed he was missing and choked his whereabouts out of Frank. Sighing, he stepped cautiously away from the door, trying to get his bearings.

Finding a switch next to the door, he flicked it. Yellow light answered sluggishly, the woefully underpowered bulb illuminating the room just enough that Bob could look round and see his surroundings. Huh. Not the grimy electrician's cupboard he'd been expecting, this room had obviously been a dressing room at some time in the past. Bob walked over to the mirror and peered into it, seeing his reflection faintly in the dim surface.

His head snapped up at the sound of voices outside, but he didn't recognise his band mates. Still, they might be able to get the door open for him. Crossing to the door, he was about to shout again when it flew open and someone was shoved inside, yelling and kicking. Bob steadied him instinctively and the door slammed shut before he could get to it.

"Jon Walker and Brendon Urie! Nowhere will be safe!" Spencer shouted, flinging himself against the door and hammering on it with his fists. Echoing Bob's behaviour earlier, Spencer kicked the bottom of the door and turned, finally seeming to realise that he wasn't alone.

Bob stood firm in the full force of Spencer's bitchface, mind whirling with the implications of Frank's actions now. It wasn't just a prank, not with Spencer shoved in here with him. He'd been so sure that their flirtation was flying under the radar. Spencer's glare faded and his arms unfolded, replaced by a rueful smile.

"I'm guessing this is what subtle looks like through a lens of Panic and Romance," he said.

"Maybe through a haze of Chemical Panic," Bob said. "Welcome to our bands' idea of a romantic tryst, Spencer Smith." He carefully kept his voice light and ironic. He was pretty sure the flirtation had been reciprocal, and didn't really want to see the bitchface that would result if it turned out it hadn't been. Spencer looked round the dusty dressing room, barely lit by the naked bulb from the ceiling. A reluctant smile tugged at his lips.

"I just learned more than I really wanted to know about the seductive wiles of my friends," said Spencer. He brushed past Bob and went over to the counter under the mirror. Bob followed his progress, swallowing hard when Spencer stopped just in front of the counter, hips cocked in that fuck-me pose that never failed to make Bob's mouth go dry. Bob dragged his eyes up and met Spencer's gaze in the mirror. Even in the dim and spotted reflection, Bob could see the smile, so different from Spencer's usual don't-fuck-with-me glare.

Stepping forward, Bob stopped just behind Spencer, close enough that he could feel the heat of his body.

"This isn't your idea of an ideal location?" asked Bob.

"I think I'd prefer less dust," said Spencer, smirking. "And, while I love the idea of being fucked in front of a mirror, it would be nice if I could see clearly."

Bob's breath caught and he eased that little bit closer, so he was just touching Spencer all along the tempting curve of his back and ass. The atmosphere in the little room was hot, close and edged with dark anticipation. Now that they'd moved over that barrier, out of flirtation and into the realm of sexual possibility, Bob wanted everything. "Mirrors, huh?" he questioned. "I've got a thing for counters, myself. I like to sit my partner on the edge and get them spread open." He leaned forward just a little more, breath hot against Spencer's ear, watching intently as the other man swallowed hard and tipped his head back, just a little. "Do you like counters, Spencer Smith?"

"I do," said Spencer. "I like being lifted up onto them and held there." He brought up one arm, arching his body into a curve of invitation, reaching back and threading his hand into Bob's hair. Bob pressed his face into the arch of Spencer's throat, mouth moving over the tender skin. He was already hard and aching in his jeans, just from this contact. Spencer smelled like soap, and a little like sweat and the lingering sweetness of pot. His skin was smooth and Bob bit down gently into it.

"Turn around," growled Bob, lifting his lips away. Spencer smirked at him one last time in the mirror and eased forward, bracing himself on the counter with both hands. Then he turned and tugged Bob forward to join him with one hand on his jaw and the other buried back in his hair. Bob groaned as their lips met, Spencer's already open and shiny slick under his.

They fitted their bodies together, Spencer leaning against the counter and Bob pressed hard against him. He could feel Spencer's cock, hard and solid through the thick material of their jeans. Bob wrapped his hands around Spencer and held him still so he could grind into him, hot and dirty and so good. Even in Bob's grip, Spencer's hips swiveled and ground back, his fingers clutched tight in Bob's hair and his tongue intent as it slid round Bob's.

Sliding his fingers up under Spencer's t-shirt and over skin, Bob groaned into the kiss. This was better than he could ever have imagined, crammed tight into his tiny bunk at night with the hum of the air conditioning and Frank's snores to cover his desperate, bitten-back gasps.

"Take it off," gasped Spencer, dragging Bob's head back. Bob flattened his hands against Spencer's skin as he dragged the shirt up and over his head. "And yours, want to touch your skin," Spencer continued as he emerged from the soft cotton.

"Fuck, yeah," breathed Bob, battling with his buttons and staring at Spencer, all gorgeous pale skin and heavy-lidded eyes, biting his lip and staring at Bob with undisguised lust. Bob ripped the last button, shrugging off the shirt and letting it drop to the dusty ground, intent only on getting his hands and mouth back onto Spencer's body. Spencer hissed in appreciation as Bob bent his head, licking and biting across Spencer's neck and over his chest. As he sucked on one nipple, Spencer groaned and dug his fingers into Bob's shoulder, so tightly it was sure to bruise.

Bob moaned. It was heady, knowing that Spencer wanted him so much that his spectacular control was splintering. He bit down on the other nipple, sucking the tender flesh into his mouth afterwards. He wanted to make Spencer sigh and plead for him. He wanted to suck his cock, wanted to fuck him, wanted to be fucked by him. Fingers digging in harder, Spencer dragged Bob up and flush against him, fitting their mouths together in a hard kiss, all teeth and tongue, nearly too wet and not anywhere near close enough. Squeezing his hand between them, Bob groped across Spencer's groin, rubbing the hard line of his cock through his jeans.

"Fuck," gritted Spencer. "Naked, now, whatever you want, just more, Bob, now." He sounded wrecked, all thready passion, and Bob couldn't resist. He ripped at the fly of Spencer's jeans as Spencer kicked his shoes off, then peeled off the denim and shoved Spencer's boxers down after them. As Spencer kicked the material away, Bob tugged at his own jeans, fumbling the zipper down and getting the material partway down his thighs.

"Gonna suck your cock now," said Spencer, dropping to his knees in front of Bob and pushing his boxers down after the jeans. Bob moaned and threaded his fingers through Spencer's hair, trying hard not to tug at the first lick of tongue over the head of his cock.

"Fuck," he gasped, fighting to stay upright as the slick pressure of Spencer's mouth engulfed his cock, inch by inch. "Fuck, you feel so good." Bob looked down at him, naked and kneeling on the dusty floor in the dim yellow light, mouth wrapped tight around Bob's cock, hand wrapped round the base and dragging over his skin in maddening counterpoint, and groaned. "Look so good. Sucking my cock, kneeling at my feet." He rubbed his thumb over Spencer's cheek, watching the pink flush crawl over his cheeks. Spencer sucked harder and Bob moaned. He was so close already, skin crawling with the need to come. He would have felt ashamed by his lack of stamina, but Spencer was looking up at him, eyes dark and wanting, and Bob couldn't care.

Spencer pulled back, lips so red and shiny. "Come for me," he said. "Fuck, I want to taste you so bad." He sealed his lips back over Bob's cock, twisting his hand round the base hard and perfect. Bob thrust shallowly, eyes fixed on the sight in front of him. He moaned and shook, bracing his free hand on Spencer's shoulder and coming hard, feeling Spencer swallowing around him.

"Oh, Jesus," Bob breathed, slowly catching his breath and looking down at Spencer, frantically fisting his own cock, still hard and waiting. "Stop, Spence, let me," he said, tugging him up by one shoulder, the other hand tilting his chin up and dragging him into a kiss.

"On the counter," muttered, grabbing Spencer's hips and crowding him backwards. He still felt giddy, almost shaky, but he wanted to get his mouth on Spencer's cock and make him moan. Lifting him, he propped Spencer up against the counter, legs spread wide and open in invitation. He dropped to his knees in front of him, shouldering his legs even further apart, catching one of Spencer's hands and threading into into his hair. "I want to hear you," he said. "Don't hold back."

Spencer's smile was all heat and lust, and he tangled his fingers painfully in Bob's hair and hooked one leg over his shoulder as he tugged him closer. "Do it, then," he breathed.

Bob lost himself in the heat and taste of Spencer's dick, solid and salty and satisfying on his tongue. The heel of his foot dug hard into Bob's shoulder and his fingers tugged with the sweet edge of pain as he directed Bob's movements. His moan was throaty and wild as his cock bumped against the back of Bob's throat. Balancing himself with one hand on Spencer's hip, Bob used the other to trace lightly over Spencer's balls and down to tease his hole with gentle strokes.

"Fuck, so good," moaned Spencer. "Want you to fuck me next time." Bob moaned around Spencer's cock, as much as he could. Fuck, he could just imagine what Spencer might look like, spread out on clean sheets under the glow of warm candlelight, aching and pleading and opening for Bob so sweetly filthy. He wished he could get hard already. Spencer's hips jerked and his hand tightened. Bob sucked harder; he wanted to taste him and hear him come.

"Shit, Bob, gonna come," Spencer gasped, fingers tightening even further in Bob's hair, holding him down and making him take it. Bob felt another stab of lust go through him and clenched his own fingers on Spencer's hip in response. Spencer was loud, practically sobbing pleas and curses as he shook his way through his orgasm. Bob swallowed, licking Spencer through the aftershocks before finally pulling back to rest his head on Spencer's thigh.

He smiled into the soft skin as Spencer's fingers carded through his hair, scratching gently behind his ears. "We should get dressed," said Spencer. Bob hummed his agreement into his skin, but didn't move. This was nice, close to each other and hazy and high on endorphins. He ignored the dust clinging to his sweaty skin and the inevitable reappearance of his band mates. Spencer sighed and tugged on his hair gently.

"Yeah," sighed Bob. "They'll come looking for us soon and I'd rather Frank didn't get nude pictures of me." Spencer pulled again and Bob climbed to his feet, wrapping his arms round Spencer and holding him close for a long moment.

"This is nice too," said Spencer, "but the naked pictures thing? Would really suck."

Bob pulled back reluctantly and tugged up his pants as Spencer searched for his clothes. Bob passed him his pants as he emerged from his t-shirt, trying effectually to shake the dust out of them. As Spencer laced up his shoes, Bob stood behind him, brushing more dust off wherever he could reach. The look Spencer slanted over his shoulder was amused.

"Are you actually under the impression that you're being helpful?" he asked.

"You know what is helpful?" Bob asked. "Tonight's a hotel night. I vote we make Frank and Brendon share."

"Your menace is epic," said Spencer, straightening and turning, slipping his arms around Bob and hugging him tight. He tipped his face up and Bob kissed him willingly. When the door swung open and Ray poked his head in, they broke apart and faced the door together.

"I don't want to hear about your plans for revenge," he said. "Just fucking get out here and dust yourselves off and don't say a fucking word."

Spencer cocked his hip and settled his bitchface. Bob rubbed a smear of dust off his cheekbone and shoved his hands in his pocket. He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he didn't care. He followed Spencer out of the little room and down the hallway.


End file.
